I met a successful man as he lay dying in the marketplace he had constructed. I asked him to what purpose he had sacrificed his life and he raised himself on one elbow and told me his story, a story of a heart that had never flowered and a mind that was closed in on itself.
He did not need words to tell me his story, I could see it in his eyes as he took his last breaths.
Afterwards I sat on the floor with his children as his employees wheeled his body away.
A small boy seemed to not notice the absence of the man. He was busy with a toy train that happened to be passing by. He made choo choo noises and his sister grimaced and said, ‘Don’t be such a child at a time like this’.
The small boy reached out kindly to his sister, passing the toy train into her hands. Would you like a turn now? The girl began to push the little train around the floor. I watched as the world disappeared.
The successful man watches also, from the place he has moved to, even now. In that place there is no past and future, only the watching of all that occurs. He has no regret. He has no plan. He has nothing, but the ever flowering heart and radiant mind that he is.
In the marketplace little is known. Supplies are bought and sold. Children are born and die. Stories are written and dissolved.
I met the little boy when he too had become a successful man. He looked into my eyes and said, My father built a marketplace, I turned it into a grand mausoleum. My son will inherit this income flow. I am well pleased. And he died also.
There is always a toy train happening to be passing by. We must reach out with our hands to touch it, before it is too late.